With Skin On
by Victoria to Worthing
Summary: Desmond remembers what it's like to feel loved, with a little help from Claire and Hurley.


Desmond remembers what it's like to be loved, with a little help from Hurley and Claire. Set during 3x19, before they had told Sayid or Kate about Naomi's arrival. Slight hints of shippiness, but not really.  
** Disclaimer:** I don't own Lost or any of its characters! I also don't own the random story about God that I mentioned in this, but I can't remember who does!

Desmond loved Naomi for what she represented.

She showed that the outside world still existed, and that things were happening in it. She was a chance that he might someday get off this island. But more than anything else, she was the incarnate proof that Penny still loved him and still wanted to find him. Beyond that, he felt responsible for her. He got flashes of the future; he didn't create it. Still, he had gotten the distinct feeling that he was engineering something when he lined everything up to allow them to find her in the tree that day. He felt almost like he had brought her here.

However, all of these facts didn't prevent him from getting a bit tired of tending her. He had been in the tent watching over her ever since they arrived back at camp. She was technically staying in Hurley's tent, but he hadn't wanted to leave too much responsibility on Hurley by just abandoning her there. He felt like he was on a single mission, almost like he was playing an intense game. Change her bandage, keep her cool, get her to drink water, see if she wants to eat. It was like a slightly more complicated form of pushing the button, this time with a more articulate purpose.

He allowed himself a restful walk a few hours after daybreak. He felt anxious and almost guilty leaving, but he was beginning to feel the toll of staying up in a cramped tent after a night of hard walking and no sleep.

When he passed by Claire on the route of his walk, she waved him over with one hand, her other arm cradling Aaron.

"Is Charlie all right? I haven't seen him since I woke up and I knew he went off with you yesterday." Ever since he told her about his visions, Charlie was their first topic of conversation.

"Yes, he's fine. He was in Hurley's tent when I last saw him. I think he went to get breakfast. Do you want me to tell him to come to you?"

"No, you don't have to do that. It's odd that he didn't come back here to sleep, though. I guess you all were having a boys' night?" 

He chuckled wryly at that innocent summation of their past day. "You could say that."

"I'm glad he's all right… and you, too, of course."

"You needn't worry about me." He was a bit surprised she'd even felt the need to add that.

"Maybe not, but I do. I feel so helpless sitting around here all day. Worrying is all I can do."

"Perhaps you could take up knitting," he joked, and she giggled more appreciatively than his joke had deserved.

When he got back to Hurley's tent, he hesitated. He was eager to see that Naomi was all right, but he didn't exactly relish the thought of going back into that dark cave, even for the human representation of the past three years' wishes.

As he loitered by the tent's door, he could see what was happening inside through the slightly gaping opening. Naomi was directly in his line of view. Hurley, almost out of sight, was the only one watching her at the moment. She was stirring, looking almost asleep, but tossing and turning.

"My side feels funny," she said, her voice husky from disuse.

"Well, yeah, you had a tree branch in it," Hurley said in his gentle, tactless way. "Does it hurt too bad? I could give you more aspirin."

"It doesn't hurt too much. It just feels like I have… a hole. Like something's missing. I feel sort of hollow."

"Do you want me to, uh, check on the wound? I don't really know how it's supposed to look."

"Sure, yeah."

Desmond heard the rustling as Hurley moved across the tent and into his line of vision. He saw the large man's gentleness as he slid the hem of Naomi's shirt up gingerly and removed the bandage slowly, afraid of hurting her. He couldn't tell how the wound looked from where he stood, but he could see how Hurley's thick fingers touched her dark skin as lightly as a whisper. He knew that Hurley was squeamish, and he was probably afraid of the blood, but he was more afraid of causing someone pain. He knew that Hurley couldn't really do anything to help, but his fingers seemed to telegraph his best intentions.

"I think you're OK," Hurley said hesitantly, his hand resting over the wound.

"I feel better," Naomi said quietly, turning a little bit into his touch.

"Really? I didn't really do anything."

"I think you did." Her eyes were slipping shut. A moment later, she slid into sleep.

Desmond felt like he had seen something secret, even though it was just a moment of thoughtfulness, a simple act of kindness. Watching from afar, he was able to see what Hurley didn't realize. Naomi felt empty because she was alone, because she was afraid, because she was somewhere strange where she might never be found. The emptiness came from inside, from that weight, not from a punctured lung. Hurley's inexperience had been the perfect thing to heal it, because there is nothing like the simple touch of another human being to remind you that you are alive and not alone. Desmond suddenly remembered a rather sappy story he had read in a book once, where a child asked his father to come into his room because he was afraid. "I know God is watching over me," the child said, "but sometimes it's nice to feel His touch with some skin on it." This touch was what Desmond was waiting for all his years in the hatch, what he must still be waiting for to feel his heart aching like this. The comforting feeling of someone touching you for no purpose, touching you when they don't have to, touching you because they want to. Naomi was the incarnation of his hope, but she wasn't a pair of comforting arms. He had forgotten what those felt like these days.

His sudden discontent and loneliness drove him away from the tent door and toward the deserted side of the beach, but he paused in his tracks when he remembered a pair of arms he knew that were always embracing, and a pair of blue eyes that were always looking after him with concern. That was the only source of real comfort he knew on this island.

When he appeared at Claire's tent, she looked up with no questioning in her expression. She was never surprised when he came by. Charlie must have gone back to the Naomi, because she sat alone, with Aaron now sleeping his cradle nearby.

Desmond sank to his knees in the sand before her, in the posture of a child saying his prayers aloud to his mother at night. "I miss Penny…more than I can bear. Even though I'm with all of you, I'm still on this island, and I still feel completely alone. I have a secret that I don't want to explain because I'm too tired. I just want to sit here with you for a minute. Can I?" She was a source of heat and light and _warmth_, and he knew he could feel better just drawing near.

"Of course. Sit closer." And when he obeyed, she found his rough hand with her tiny fingers and squeezed it tight, her touch whispering _I'm here_ to his spirit, the way Hurley's had whispered to Naomi's troubled mind. She spoke the language of skin, the oldest language there was, and he decided to let her worry for him for once. He let his mind drift away from visions and hopes and into the realm of mindless comfort open only to those who have learned how to remember that they are loved.


End file.
